Precious Stars
by Eriala
Summary: Fala and Moira, from the beginning. How they fell in love, and what happened later. Mild femslash. Chapter 10: In which Fala is silly and Moira is singing. Hiatus.
1. there is no dark side of the moon really

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**A/N:** I couldn't find much about this in the books, so I improvised a little. I had always wondered what had drawn Fala to Moira, and I'd always pictured as a bit like how Jager met Fala. Also, if you're going to say I'm sick and slash-minded for this, you might want to reread _Demon in my View_, where it says "Fala had met and fallen in love with Moira."

And my first reviewer gets a cookie, of course.

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**Chapter 1**

_(Moira is asleep, and Fala sitting beside her, legs spread out, leaning against the coarse, gritty wall of the narrow cell. The light is so dim that even she, with her vampiric sight, can hardly see her own hands. She lifts one experimentally, and waves it before her eyes.)_

Fala_ (very quietly)_:Damn.

_Moira shifts very slightly in her sleep, and the rough wall catches the skin across her shoulder. She murmurs something incomprehensible, as Fala leans over and licks the blood off the scratch.)_

Fala _(whispered)_: You taste good.

_(Gently, Fala takes another lick, but no more; there is something beautiful about this other girl, even in the dark, something that has drawn her here. She cannot destroy her chances now._

_A lock of hair falls across Moira's face, and Fala brushes it away. Moira opens her eyes, and reaches one hand up blindly, in the dark, unable to see anything – her hand brushes across Fala's chest, and she draws it back quickly, startled and embarrassed. Her eyes are black; her lips are red, red with her own blood where a guard had slapped her when she refused to enter the cell. Fala smiles._

_Moira shivers slightly, and Fala huddles against her, forgetting, for a moment, that she can offer none of the warmth of the living.)_

Moira: Who are you?

Fala: Do I frighten you?

_(Moira touches the sticky blood at her shoulder, then rubs her fingers together, still blind in the darkness. She does not answer the question.)_

Moira: My name is Moira.

Fala: Fala.

_(Fala is still leaning against the other girl, one arm around her, for feigned warmth. Moira finds one of her hands, and clasps it with her own, forgetting the blood on her fingers.)_

Moira: You're freezing.

Fala: I hadn't noticed.

Moira: I don't mind.

_(She half shrugs, burrowing deeper against the other. Their fingers are still entwined, and the sun has begun to rise – pale, watery light streams through the tiny window above their heads, revealing how much darker Fala's Egyptian skin is, compared to Moira's. Moira's black hair shimmer's oddly in the sunrise's scarlet glow, knotted and tousled._

_Fala blinks a bit at the new light.)_

Moira: You don't have to be here.

Fala: I know. But I want to.

_(Moira laughs a little, disbelieving.)_

Moira: They'll kill you.

Fala: They don't know how.

_(Moira looks confused, but does not question this. She tries to pull away from Fala, but the other is holding her with an impossible strong grip.)_

Moira _(again)_: Who are you?

Fala: I'm here to save you.

Moira: You can't. They want to kill me. No one can stop them.

_(Fala reaches out her mind to Moira, who does not, or cannot flinch away.)_

Fala _(with her mind)_: Not if you're already dead.

_(Still holding Moira lovingly, she sinks her fangs into the other's dark skin.)_


	2. the fallen are the virtuous among us

**Disclaimer: **No, I still don't own it.

**A/N:** The book had Moira living before the Aztecs, but I liked the idea of her as an Aztec religious sacrifice, so I changed the timeline by a few years. Just to clear that up. Oh and sorry if my Moira's gone a bit Drusilla, I couldn't help it.

passes wolfdiamond a cookie

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**Chapter 2**

_(Moira opens her eyes; night has come again. Rainforest surrounds her, thick, knotted trees with luscious leaves blocking out the moonlight. This time, she likes the darkness, though the damp, woodsy smell is overpowering. She can see Fala, sitting beside her, watching and watching as though she has never seen anything more beautiful. Moira runs her tongue across her new, sharp fangs. She cannot remember ever feeling such a thirst as she does now.)_

Moira: Why?

_(She means, Why you? Why me?)_

Fala: Because I saw you, and I thought of myself.

_(She is not sure what she means by that)_

Moira: I can smell them.

Fala: Who?

_(The question is rhetorical; she knows the answer)_

Moira: They smell like death. It's not right. I'm the one who should smell like death.

_(She pouts a bit, and Fala laughs.)_

Fala: You need to feed.

_(She knows what she needs. She knows what she wants. There is power coursing through her veins now, and she has never had any power before. In life, she was like a sheep, or a goat, kicking and struggling but always ending up just where they wanted her. She was a number, a statistic, meant for everyone else's purposes but her own. When the new people had first come, she had ignored them, ignored them until they had said, we need a gift for the gods. She hadn't given a damn about their gods._

_She hadn't given a damn until she herself was the gift, a cheap one, and they might as well have picked up a rock from the ground to give. But they would give her all the same, and that was when she had prayed to every god whose name she had every heard._

_Now, she _is_ the power, she has the control, and she wants to make them hurt. She is tired of being a sheep.)_

Moira: I think I like you.

_(She says it like she wants to add more, but doesn't.)_

Fala: C'mon.

_(Fala helps Moira gently to her feet, and they both sway a little, supporting each other._

_Moira forgets gods and sheep, she forgets everything but the smell of blood, sweet and metallic, drifting lazily toward her; she follows it, weaving through the trees, Fala sharp on her heels. They are like a pair of panthers among the dense rainforest, black hair flying, creatures of the night, nothing to stop them._

_There is a temple nearby, a stepped pyramid rising out of the undergrowth, a trail of ivy already beginning to creep up its stone sides. There is a half-built city forming behind it, a city that does not seem to belong, but they ignore it for the time being, approaching the temple like silent ghosts. A guard stands at its base, murmuring something quietly to himself, and Moira giggles slightly._

_Fala starts for him, nodding Moira to follow, and then notices that the other has hesitated – whether from weakness or morality, she is not sure. She sighs, and the guard turns to see them. His eyes widen, but she grabs him from behind before he can shout for help, spins him around, kicks him where it hurts, and knocks him to the ground, holding him there with a bare foot on his neck.)_

Fala: Wildcat?

_(She is not sure what makes her call Moira that, but the girl responds instantly, leaping onto the man and drinking as though his blood is the elixir of life.)_

Fala: Don't hesitate.

_(Moira flips some of her still-knotted hair over her shoulder as she enters the temple. Her torn dress is slipping off, revealing more than she would have ever dared show as a human.)_

Moira: Fala?

_(Fala looks at her. In one fluid motion, Moira darts across the temple to a priest who has backed into a corner, and sinks her teeth into his neck. Fala watches approvingly, glancing around for more prey, but sees none.)_

Moira: I don't like it here.

_(She drops the dead priest, and Fala once again appreciates the bloody crimson of her lips.)_

Fala: Me neither.

_(And later that night, when Fala has lit a fire around the temple, consuming trees and nearby houses, so that the shouts and screams of everyone whom Moira once hated now are audible in the distance, Moira leans over and kisses her on the cheek with bloodstained lips.)_

Moira: Look.

_She lifts her hands to gesture toward the smoke-strewn sky.)_

Moira: You've covered the stars.


	3. the devil’s in the dreamin’

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day, and here's some romantic sap just for you!

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**Chapter 3**

_(Another city, another day. They are on the beach, as smoke rises in thick, swirling clouds behind them, and they do not bother to turn or watch._

_Moira's hands are stained with blood, so thickly coated that though she stands waist-deep in the ocean, rubbing at them furiously, they still have an unnaturally reddish tinge. She finds that she does not mind this; it makes her feel powerful, and she wants nothing more to be powerful and free, powerful and free as Fala._

_Fala stands on the shore, wriggling her dark toes through the sand, and watching. She takes in everything: the way the other girl always flicks her hair over her shoulder, as though it is a nuisance, and not the most beautiful thing that Fala has ever seen, the way she screeches a bit at a passing seagull as though she speaks it language, though she only means to shoo it away. Moira leaps through the water gracefully, fast as she can, back to Fala, and Fala thinks of everything she still must teach her fledgling._

_Such as, if you destroy everyone, you are a curse; if you leave a few survivors, you make yourself a legend._

_There is something horrifically innocent about Moira, something sweet, childish and bloody, and Fala loves it. It is dusk, and Moira, soaking wet, has reached Fala on the shore. Fala kisses her lightly, on the cheek, by instinct, and feels a rush of happiness and frustration that she cannot understand.)_

Fala: There's someone I'd like you to meet.

Moira: Now?

_(She lies down on the ground, and the sand sticks to her. Fala joins her, hesitantly.)_

Fala: I think you'd like him. Unless there's something else you wanted?

_(She is trying to sound nonchalant; half of her wants to show Jager the miracle that is Moira, and the other half insists that he will be unimpressed. Her mind has become a battlefield, Moira against Jager, and she can't say who will win.)_

Moira: I'd like to fly.

_(She changes her form to that of a seagull, because she knows that it will annoy Fala, who will say that such a bird is too weak for her taste. Shaking the sticky, wet sand off of her feathers, she spreads her grey wings apart and claws at the ground, the lifts off, circling higher and higher.)_

Fala _(quietly, to herself)_: Moira.

_(She likes the way it rolls off her tongue, and smiles a bit, before calling the other girl down._

_Moira lands, transforms back, and lies on her back, head tilted to one side to see Moira better. Fala reaches over, and takes her hand.)_

Fala: We have to go.

_(She transports the both of them, not because Moira can't, but because she knows Moira doesn't want to go, and feels guilty. It is strange, how killing is natural, but making Moira the slightest bit uncomfortable seems a deadly sin._

_They are gone from the beach in an instant, and appear in a darkened bar, filled with vampires, smelling of alcohol and blood. Moira shivers slightly, sensing how different the atmosphere is from anywhere else she has ever been.)_

Jager _(from across the room)_: Fala.

_(He stiffens, catching sight of the other girl. Fala realizes that they are still holding hands, and that Moira, apprehensive and naïve as she is, is not letting go. Within her, the fight continues: Moira or Jager, Moira or Jager, Moira or Jager? Then she answers on impulse, a bit spiteful: Moira.)_

Jager _(confused)_: What…?

_(She is not sure why she does it, but she leans over and kisses Moira on the lips, and the other responds as though nothing is more natural, as though they meant it all along.)_


	4. you'll find a way to make things right

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: Well, folks, here it is. I know I should have spent a bit more time editing, and I'm currently beta-less, so if you see any mistakes than please tell me. Otherwise, enjoy.

(And many, many thanks to my lovely reviewers.)

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**Chapter 4**

_(Same scene. Fala pulls away from the kiss first, one hand on Moira's shoulder, biting her lip because she is afraid if Jager's reaction if she should smile. No one says anything for a long moment)_

Jager: Fala.

_(He has a way about him, to say just one word and make it a comeback, a command, a warning and a question all in one.)_

Fala _(defiant)_: This is Moira.

_(Her words don't have the power of his; she is younger, less experienced, and, in a tangled way that has nothing to do with Moira, very much in love with him._

_Moira takes a few tentative steps forward, toward Jager, not at all sure of what she is doing, and he copies the action. He moves to the left, and she to the right, until they are circling, tighter and tighter, with Fala in the center, as everyone around them backs quickly away. It seems a twisted cross between hunters rounding up their quarry, and a sort of timeless, ancient dance. Beautiful, in its own way. A beam of tension so clear and hard it is almost physically visible keeps them locked in this perverse dance, around and around. Fala is the sun, and they are two planets - each wanting to be just a bit closer to her light._

_Watching the fight build around her, Fala feels helpless - a great defenselessness and exposure that she has not felt since she left Egypt. She left Egypt - and the helpless feeling of being nothing more than prey - all behind, with nothing more than a few brown scars across her wrists, from a failed attempt at running away, and she uses vampiric power to hide those. Not because she particularly cares if anyone sees, but because she can. It means, to her: I am powerful, I create my future, I can abandon my past._

_Now Moira is her future._

_She runs her tongue nervously across her fangs, and fidgets, because she knows that Moira will loose the fight, and die, and she will have to watch._

_Then, all at once, Moira stops circling. Giggles._

_Fala winces.)_

Moira: We shouldn't do this.

Jager: Because I'll win.

_(Its is a statement, not at all a question, and they both know it._

_He doesn't like to pick fights unless he must; but this is a threat to his pride, a thief of his love, and he's not afraid to throw away the few morals he has left for such a cause.)_

Moira: Fala loves me. Kill me. Fly off into the sunset with her.

_(Her words flutter out of her mouth before she has time to consider them, immature and raw. She has no idea what she's saying, but knows she has to stall.)_

Moira: It won't help.

_(Maybe she's goading him. Maybe she's convincing him to back off. Maybe she's convincing herself that Fala is someone worth dying for. She remembers the girl in her cell, whose cold she had burrowed into instinctively, and thinks - no, not worth dying for; worth living for._

_Her words are so inappropriate, so awkward that he just stands there for a few moments, not letting his guard down, but no longer searching for a fight.)_

Moira: We're all quite powerless here, aren't we?

_(She's making everything more uncomfortable by the second. None of them want to seem weak._

_But Jager cannot control who loves him; Moira doesn't have the strength or integrity to win a physical fight; and Fala, Fala is trapped in the center, a victim again, a little girl in a dangerous world who's put such large pieces into motion that they've spun away from her control._

_Yes, they admit, though never to each other: powerless.)_

Jager: Fala?

_(This time, it is a question, which she answers by backing up a few feet, so that her toes brush against Mordra's. The other girl takes her hand.)_

Jager _(to Moira)_: You hurt her -

_(His words are more those of Fala's father than lover; in a way, he has played both roles, and more, at different times.)_

Moira: I know.

Jager _(to Fala)_: If you're sure -

Fala: I am.

_(She leans over and whispers something into Moira's ear._

_Within a few moments, they have said their polite goodbyes, and two seagulls are flying away again, across a clouded sunrise.)_


	5. cos you feel it doesn't mean it's there

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own this, sorry.

**A/N: **I wasn't too sure about this chapter; I've got the next three written and edited, but this one was a bit of a challenge. Any help/feedback, therefore, is welcome, as always.

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**Chapter 5**

_(They are back in the jungle, again. It makes Moira more comfortable, and more bloodthirsty; sometimes, she'll growl under her breath, imitating a wildcat. Fala, wary and less comfortable with their surroundings, likes to stop and listen to that snarl, low and soft and strangely alluring.)_

Fala: Alright, Wildcat, it's all a game from now on. You see?

_(Moira doesn't see, not at all. She's young, willful, and easily persuadable.)_

Fala: You can do anything. You're not prey anymore.

_(It was Jager who first taught her that. But she refuses to miss him, not even for a moment._

_Moira nods. Fala's been saying things like this for a while. As though being older, even thousands of years older, makes her wiser. As though she knows the great secrets of the world, and Moira is not more than another impatient, insignificant fledgling. Moira has to concentrate long and hard on Fala's eyes – those dark, seductive Egyptian eyes that stop every pain – to make the anger go away._

_Sometimes Fala will smear ink across her eyes until they are two symmetrical Eyes of Horus – she does it to prove that she is powerful.)_

Fala: Forget your gods. See? We are the gods, now.

_(And Moira agrees._

_But there are some times, some times when Fala seems too much a teacher and too little a lover, and Moira will make an excuse and run for it._

_One of these times, she sneaks away, comes upon her old village, still there, still alive –_

_They couldn't save her. Only Fala could._

_So she just watches, for a day or two, a silent shadow, smirking out of the gloom; there's one boy who intrigues her, of about her age and vaguely familiar. Reading his mind casually, the way she reads Fala's eyes, she takes it all in – how he feels, what he wants, what draws him in. She morphs her form to one that's just as he'd like it. Makes a habit of sneaking away from Fala almost every day, discreetly, to see him, smile seductively, intrigue him. She doesn't even know his name._

_A week of this goes by, and she chooses her moment carefully; gestures the boy forward; grabs him lightning-fast, pushes him against a tree and ties him there, scratching him with one fingernail as she does so, and rubbing it across her lips to redden them. Lights his village, no longer hers, casually aflame. The fire is a gift for Fala._

_As Moira turns back toward the boy, burgundy lips uplifted in a smile, tawny flames rising in the distance, with background music of screams, her already-torn clothing rips farther, but she's far past human modesty and sees no reason to blush at this. He whimpers, confused and lost, and she gently kisses him.)_

Moira: Shhhhh, it's gonna be alright. I like you.

Fala _(far away, flippantly, laughing)_: Wildcat?

_(She enters the scene, and the laughter dies abruptly on her lips._

_All she can see is the blood on Moira's lips, and the mirror of it on his own; all she notices is the vampire's bare skin and the boy's bonds.)_

Moira _(as though nothing is wrong; maybe, to her, nothing is)_: The fire's for you. It was a present.

Fala: Thank you.

_(The words are habitual, and she doesn't lower her eyes)_

Fala: You were –

_(She's not sure if she has enough proof.)_

Moira: I wanted him 'cause he's so pretty. But I was gonna get rid of him when we were done, I promise.

_(For once, Fala does not recognize the lie. All she hears is "I wanted him," and "when we were done," and her eyes narrow. There's the proof. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, then leans over and punches through the trunk of a nearby young tree with her vampiric strength, sending bits of debris flying everywhere. Her knuckles begin to bleed.)_

Moira: I still love you.

_(Moira picks up a fragment of wood and begins to play with it, throwing it up and catching it, flipping it over and over in her shaking, honey-colored hands.)_

Moira: I don't understand.

_(There is a long and awkward pause, in which Fala wrestles the piece of wood from Moira's hand and flings it through the jagged gap in the wall, while the other watches, still with a puzzled expression.)_

Fala: I don't understand, either.

_(Shutting her eyes, Fala transforms slowly, fades and transforms. Becomes a caracal(1), solid black fur and sharp claws, with which she lunges up and scratches Moira across the bare, exposed skin just beneath her neck. A few parallel, even marks, hardly deep enough to scar, before she prowls out, and Moira, doubled over in pain and surprise, does not dare to follow.)_

Moira _(to herself, still mystified)_: It was just a, a thing, Fala, I love you, I love you –

_(She shakes her head slightly to clear it, sees that Fala is nowhere near.)_

Moira _(very quietly)_: Damn.

_(From behind a tree, Fala the caracal sits and watches. The form she has taken is unnatural in her surroundings, but so familiar as to almost make her nostalgic. It reminds her of Jager, and she imagines for a moment that she can smell his thick, spicy scent on the jungle's unmoving air, calling her away.)_

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(1) a type of African cat – usually only the tufts on their ears are black.


	6. did I tell you I need you?

**Disclaimer: **I'm not AAR, nor do I own this.

**A/N: **I've got this story set in the year 1326. Not that it changes anything, but I realized I'd never put a date in, because of the format, so I thought I'd mention it now. Also, many wonderful loving thanks to my most constant reviewer, dreamlndxfantasy - check out her lovely fics if you get a chance.

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**Chapter 6**

_(Upon seeing Jager, Fala bows her head slightly, as though paying homage to a king. She stays a few long feet away from him, shy, uncertain, hesitant.)_

Fala: I shouldn't have left you. It was wrong.

_(She's never before pretended to care about 'wrong.'  
_

_But she's always had this habit, near Jager, of lying though her teeth. If he's ever seen past her deceptions, he's never mentioned it; generally, he seems to buy them with ease.)_

Fala: I'm sorry. Can you –

_(All she wants, right now, are his warm arms around her neck, his voice telling her it'll be all right. All she wants is to forget Moira. She's had to forget so many things throughout her existence, it's become a talent, an art.)_

Fala _(nervously; she can't remember ever feeling so unsure before)_: – can you – I mean, I'm sorry. Sorry, all right?

Jager: What did she do to you?

Fala: Nothing. I –

_(Well, that much was strictly true. Moira had done nothing.)_

Jager _(voice even, but furious)_: What did Moira do?

_("You hurt her – " he had threatened. And Moira had answered, "I know.")_

Fala: Don't.

_(She slowly closes her eyes, then opens them again.)_

Fala: Just don't.

_(Jager winces)_

Fala: For me?

Jager: You're here. This is happening.

_(Obviously, Fala thinks, but simply nods.)_

Jager _(softly)_: Little One?

_(Fifteen hundred years, and he still calls her that – she doesn't really mind anymore. She's proven herself enough times, there's no risk of the epithet making her seem weak. )_

Fala: I know I shouldn't have come here.

_(The shameful situation is degrading both of them, making them feel smaller, frailer.)_

Jager: No, no. It's just _(his voice grows gentler with each word) _you need to choose. You can't keep bouncing around like this.

_(Fala thinks, arbitrarily: "And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have the greatest match of all time. Jagger vs. Moira, who will win?" Who will win, who will win, who will win…)_

Jager _(again)_: Little one?

_(Who will win, who will win…_

_Jager wins.)_


	7. interlude

**Disclaimer: **I'm so tired of writing these. I still don't own it. I'll tell you if I do.

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far - please keep telling me what you think. Yes, this story is on hold & I'm only posting stuff I wrote a month ago, but I still need feedback in case I decide to continue.

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**Interlude**

_(Five years have gone by. Five winters have frozen; five fiery summers heated; sixty-five glowing full moons have risen; hundreds of empty days are gone forever.)_

_(Moira stands by the side of a lake, dressed in black, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sunlight. She's been everywhere, everywhere she can think of, but there's no one else quite like Fala. Too proud to beg forgiveness, she lifts a small, flat rock from the ground and skips it once, twice, ten times across the flat surface of the water.)_

_(I am happy with Jager, Fala tells herself. She tries to pretend that her brief time with Moira has not changed her. She lifts her bloodstained, scarlet lips from the neck of one of her prey, murmurs it again so that only the dying boy in her tight grasp can hear, and he is too far gone to wonder. His hair reminds her of Mordra as she drops his lifeless body and strides over to Jager, wrapping one graceful arm around him.)_

_(Five more years. More sunsets, more thoughts, more falsely passionate kisses, more whispers in the dark. Moira awakes one evening and throws a rock into the lake, not letting it skip. She picks the petals off a daisy, one by one._

_She loves me._

_She loves me not._

_She loves me.)_


	8. fortune takes and fortune gives

Disclaimer: I've gotten so used to saying "I own nothing" at the top of every story that sometimes I slip and write it above stuff that is all mine. But just so you know, I still don't own this.

Author Note: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter; I haven't been writing fanfiction as of late, but this chappie popped into my head last night, and I thought I would share it. All Italian quotes and their translations taken directly from "The Gospel of the Witches" a religious text from Strega Witchcraft, of which an online copy may be found at www . sacred-texts . com /pag /aradia/ (just take the spaces out of the url, as ff.n does not allow links in stories). I speak no Italian and can therefore claim no accuracy for either quotes or translations.

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**Chapter 8**

_(Jager is off hunting alone, for once, and Fala sits in the same jungle where she first met Moira, alone, counting the minutes._

_Moira herself appears suddenly behind her, and Fala, startled, moves in to attack, then a feeling hits her, an overwhelming gratitude and loneliness. Seeing Moira, her dream and nightmare, right here before her makes her realized how much she has missed her, as much as she hates it. She supposes she never realized what Moira really meant until she was gone._

_Gone. )_

Moira _(quoting)_: I diavoli dell' inferno chiamerai,  
E in compagnia del sole il manderai,  
E tutto il fuoco dell'inferno preso di se…(1)

_(Fala looks at her as though she's gone completely mad, but does not move in to attack, or even acknowledge the strangeness of the situation.)_

Fala _(careful, cautious)_: Where've you been?

Moira: Italy. With the witches.

_(She giggles a bit, unable to help herself. It sounds out-of-place, but isn't the sweet, innocent laugh that Fala remembers. It is quieter, and more aged, though the girl still looks the same, and always will._

_Fala wants to forgive her then and there, but feels the smashed shards of her shattered pride cut a jagged line across her body, and hesitates.)_

Moira: It was nice there. But I could see the stars, every one of them. And I couldn't see you.

_(Fala's fangs are digging into her lower lip, reminding her of who she is, and how she is supposed to react._

_To Fala, Moira's voice is heavenly with every word; it is something she has strained her ears desperately to hear for years, to no avail.)_

Moira _(still quoting, but tauntingly)_: Bella Fala…Più di una altra stella…che io amo più di altra stella…

_(Fala glances anxiously over Moira's shoulder, feeling around for Jager's aura, but cannot find him. She wants nothing more than to be a bird, and fly away, but knows that the other would follow._

_Moira has given up on her quotes, and looks at the ground, finally ashamed in a way no vampire should ever be.)_

Moira _(softly, honestly, humbly)_: I know this doesn't mean anything to you, but I'm sorry.

_(Fala snorts in – somewhat forced – disgust)_

Moira: I deserve whatever you do to me now.

_(Another scoff, though less derisive and more pitying.)_

Moira: You want to kill me, is that it? Torture me and tear out my undead heart, whatever you want to do to me, I deserve it.

_(Fala thinks: I want you to be my Wildcat again, can you do that? Oh, yes, and I'd like you to quote more of that Italian._

_What else can she say? 'How did you like Italy?' or 'Killed any Aztec priests lately?')_

Fala: Give me some more time, all right?

Moira: Time?

Fala: Space. More of it. I need…I need to think.

_(All of her instincts are screaming at her to take her fledgling back right away. A voice in the back of her head wonders loudly why Moira is a whole five whole feet away – not to mention fully clothed.)_

Fala: Those witches teach you any love spells? Thought you could just come back and be with me? It doesn't work like that.

Moira: Why?

_(She is trying to sound ignorant, naïve; the truth is, she knows how love works. It hurts, and doesn't stop hurting. She only wanted it to hurt more. And she hasn't fed off a human since Fala; she has barely slept, and had three or four other girls purely to torment herself. They never made her feel a thing; she had forgotten or killed them all by the next morning.)_

Fala: I need proof. I need time.

Moira: You need time with Jager.

_(She hadn't meant to say it; regret and fear begin to play with her dread and humiliation, though love argues with them all.)_

Fala: Don't you dare talk about Jager like you know him.

Moira _(weakly)_: Fala, I'm…

Fala: He loves me more than you ever could. He's stronger than you'll ever be.

Moira: I know.

_(Fala is unsure of how to react to the sudden lack of vampirism; she misses the Moira she used to know, the one who would laugh and kiss her and make everything all right. It seems strange that less than an hour of time in which nothing really happened could have caused so much hurt._

_She knows she is far too set on might-have-beens.)_

Fala: Jager deserves me. You don't.

Moira _(concerned, almost frantic)_: What – what about time? And space. I…can give you that. As much as you like, I promise. I'll look at all the stars and I won't flinch.

_(It's such a Moira thing to say, which cuts Fala to the bone.)_

Fala: Let me decide. Let me find you, next time…if there is a next time…and then we'll see.

_(Moira nods, and steps back a few paces.)_

Moira _(under her breath)_: Se questa grazia mi vorrai fare…

Fala _(muttered)_: Then someday…

* * *

(1)And thou shalt call for me the fiends from hell; / Thou'lt send them as companions of the Sun/ And all the fire infernal of itself 

(2) Beautiful Fala…Fairer far than any star…love beyond another star…

(3)And if the grace I seek thou'lt grant to me…


	9. all the dreams there are to know

**Disclaimer: ** Not mine.

** A/N:** what's this? an update?! don't get used to it._  
_

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**Chapter Nine **

_(Time has gone by. Quite a bit of time, actually. The year is 1968.)_

_(Moira is hunting. She licks her lips out of habit as she rounds another tree in the straggly forest by the waterside, speeding with the grace of a shadow. Childish and yet versatile as an ocean wave, she follows the spirit of them time but not quite the fashion. That is to say, she is naked to the waist, but for several necklaces of thick plastic beads. Her hair is all of tiny braids, and she wears a pair of tattered bellbottom jeans stolen from some former object of prey._

_She has not caught a glimpse of Fala in centuries. She has not thought of her in nearly two minutes – such is life, now and seemingly always.)_

_(Fala has become more and more of a wanderer. Separation, she assures Jager, makes the heart grow fonder – makes it love stronger –_

_With these words she changes shape. She is a seagull, something of the essence of the ocean, something of a symbol of Moira who lingers in her waking mind and chases her well into dreamland. Listlessly she flies, no heed for her surroundings, for any change of scenery or passing aura like a spirit of light. There is a human running across the beach below her, ducking through low, gnarled trees but slowing with each step. There is an angel following him, caught up in the moment so that for all the world knows she might be dancing, twirling, laughing among the precious stars. The light catches her thin, half naked form as she pounces on her prey, cat to mouse._

_Fala sits on a piece of driftwood, morphing leisurely back into her own form, watching the other. She could surely watch forever.)_

Moira: I think this is next time.

_(Though she has drawn her fangs from her victim long enough to speak, she does not look at Fala. There is blood smeared across her lips.)_

Moira _(when Fala does not answer)_: Next time. You said there would be another time, and I understand now.

_(She lays the dead human lovingly on the sand, brushing his hair from his face so that Fala may see him properly.)_

Moira: _(rambling, hurriedly) _See? I don't go for the pretty ones anymore. And I didn't wait long enough last time, and I should have waited for you to come to me, but now I've come to you, and –

Fala _(quietly, confused)_: I came to you.

Moira _(surprised)_: Did you?

_(It is almost nightfall; the sun has begun to set across the rippling water, and a few scattered raindrops are falling, washing blood from Moira's prey across the gritty sand.)_

Fala: There's… something I need to say.

Moira: Wait.

Fala: What?

_(The rain falls harder.)_

Moira: You're ruining the moment. Wait for the stars.


	10. out of memory and time

**Disclaimer**I do not own any thing in this story. Not Fala, not Moira, not the Donovan song Moira sings, "Legend of a Girl Child Linda" (1).

**A/N: **It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... an update!

* * *

**  
**

**Chapter 10**

_(It is much later, and clouds shroud the stars in the darkened sky. Water still pours from the sky, and it is beneath the rain – not _in_ the rain, but beneath it – that Moira and Fala sit. They are both cross-legged, facing each other like mirrors or doppelgangers in a perfect world, opposite and imprint. Moira now wears an oversized t-shirt stolen from her thing of prey; Fala, Fala who lives in the Past, wears an old-fashioned, impractical outfit that would befit a 50's housewife.)_

Fala: I –

Moira: Shhhh. It's not time yet. I told you, wait for the stars.

Fala: But the clouds –

_(Moira puts a finger to her lips.)_

Moira _(again)_: Shhh. Wait.

_(Moira takes both of Fala's hands in hers. She begins to hum to herself, then to sing, louder and louder, still humming or whispering some lines.)_

Moira: From out of the sun a giant gull came flying  
And the children got ready to sit on its wings.  
They waved to the raindrops as they soared over the trees  
The wind tossed their hair high, flashing gold on the sea. (1)

_(She stops abruptly as the clouds part to reveal glistening stars.)_

Moira: Told you so.

Fala: I love you.

Moira: That's all you have to say?

_(She is now gripping Fala's hands even more tightly.)_

Fala: No. I want to hear everything. Where you've been, what you've done. I want to close my eyes and pretend I was there with you.

Moira: Silly. If you close your eyes, how will you see me?

_(She gently strokes Fala's fingers. The sand around them is imprinted with a pattern of raindrops. Behind them, two young humans, male and female, are running across the beach, laughing, hands above their heads as feeble shields against the rain. Moira stands, and reluctantly drops Fala's hands.)_

Moira: This is for you.

_(She races, sand flying up at her heels, and grabs the male around his middle, pulling him to the ground as she grabs the female and drags her to the ground with them by the neck. She feeds slightly off each one, just enough that each of their bodies lies limp. With the corpses, her food, her prey, she forms a sort of statue, lying across the beach, the two bodies together forming a heart._

_Fala comes to join her just as she is putting the finishing touches on her artwork.)_

Moira: I'm an artist now. Modern art. I'll call this, "Food for love." It's all yours.

_(Fala wraps her arms around the younger vampire, kisses her gently on the lips. It is nothing like their first kiss, a rush of passion, spur-of-the-moment. This one is well-thought-out; they have dreamed and planned it for centuries. Their lives thus far have led up to this kiss, these lips on these lips and this love that tarnishes and stains their golden auras. All is perfection.)_


End file.
